


back from the dead

by orphan_account



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Justice for Hannah and Jessica 2k17, Recovery, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 06:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10611357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “I have something that can bring Bryce down.”Hannah raises a brow, her eyes scanning the expanse of his bruised face yet again. “Does it have something to do with the, uh, whole beaten and battered look you're sporting today?”“Thanks for the compliment,” Clay deadpans, earning an almost smile from her before he truly answers, “But, yeah. More or less, anyway.”“Okay, Helmet. I’m listening."Hannah survives and takes her life back.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [michellea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/michellea/gifts), [tashatypes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tashatypes/gifts).



> Title comes from "This Love". Listen to Ryan Adam's cover because it's BEAUTIFUL. 
> 
> Mind the tags if you have specific triggers.

Clay gets the call nearly a week after it happens.

At first, he doesn’t even realize that anything took place until Wednesday. His weekend goes at it always does: sleep in until noon, play videogames for a couple of hours, head to work, listen to music until he falls asleep, rinse and repeat until school comes back around like it always does Monday morning.

Except, it’s a little different that Monday in particular, because Hannah never shows up. There’s no smile to give when she’s at her locker, no glances stolen during Mrs. Bradley’s class when the lectures get too loaded and tiring, no one to search for when lunch comes around. Clay figures she’s just sick, but then she’s gone Tuesday, and Wednesday, then again on Thursday. It eats away at him little by little, the knots in his stomach growing and twisting the longer he sees her empty spaces.

Throughout the days, he sends her texts of homework assigned and what she’s missed in class, and even sends her a   _Hope you feel better, Hannah_   text, an   _I miss you_  almost typed but never sent. All of them given with no reply, and his stomach sinking lower with each minute of sickening silence.

On Friday, right as he’s leaving the front doors of the high school, he receives a call from an unknown number that’s a little ways out of the area. Tentatively with a furrow of his brow, he answers with a simple, “Hello?”

“Clay.” Hannah’s voice, clear and crisp in his ear, sounding bone-deep exhausted. Her voice is soft and breaking, wet from the sound of unshed tears. “I did something.”

When he ends the conversation, Tony’s standing there, leaning against the hood of his brightly painted car, looking expectedly at Clay with his usual ease about him. Clay wonders how long he’s been standing there, or if he’s actually been waiting for him.

“Need a ride?” Answering Clay’s question with another question. Classic Tony. “It’d probably be faster than your bike.”

Clay gets in the car, no questions asked, but plenty racing through his mind.

 

* * *

 

They sit in the parking lot for a long time, the stories upon stories of the hospital building looming over them with a sense of dread. Clay can’t stop staring at the front door entrance, at the nurses wheeling patients around with wristbands and bandages over their wrists, at the far-away stares on the their faces. How they all look like dead men walking.

“You know, visiting hours really only means an hour, right Clay?” Thank God Tony broke the silence, the current tape playing softly in the background wasn’t enough to do so. “It’s about to start.”

“I know,” Clay murmurs, staring straight ahead, his stomach in knots. Part of him wants to throw up; part of him wants to get a brown paper bag to breathe in and out of like they do in the movies.

Tony glances over at him, concern written in those dark irises of his, and asks, “You scared, man?”

“ _Uh, yeah._ ” Clay finally whips his head towards Tony, eyes wide as he wipes the sweat on the thighs of his jeans. It doesn’t do much, but it gives him something to do with the buzzing in his entire body. “I don’t know what I’m going to see or how she’s going to be. I _don’t know anything_ and it’s _terrifying_.”

Tony nods slowly, his gaze focusing back on the hospital doors. “If you’re scared, take a moment to think about what she must be feeling up there. After everything.”

It doesn’t take longer than a minute for Clay to take a breath, and make his way past Liberty Psychiatric Hospital's sliding doors.

 

 

* * *

 

Do you ever have those moments where you have so much to say, but you don’t know how to organize your words or even know if you can get your meaning across? Clay doesn’t even know if he can even manage his vocal chords to work the way they’re supposed to as he sits across from Hannah Baker, let alone say anything to make _this_ better.

They’ve been left alone as soon as came into the room. Mrs. Baker greets him with red-stained eyes and a strain in her voice as she thanks him for being the only other one of Hannah’s friends to visit her, and Tony clasps his shoulder and tells him he’ll be with Mrs. Baker in the hall waiting for them to finish. As soon as they left, his throat felt tight and dry, but as soon as he meets Hannah’s tired, dark eyes, he doesn’t know how it’s possible to feel relief and dread simultaneously from the same person.

This isn’t the same girl he knows. This Hannah is quiet, eyes dead, firmness in the line of her chapped lips. Her hair is slick with grease and matted with not showering, her nails bitten down to the nubs, as she wears a plain t-shirt and a pair of the most comfortable looking gray sweats. Clay makes it a point to not glance at the hospital bracelet dangling from her wrist, or the bandages covering the expanse below the edge of where the bracelet can fall to all the length of her forearm.

Neither of them greets the other, there’s no hugs, but they can’t stop looking at each other. So there’s a start.

After about ten minutes of this, Hannah finally says, “I invited you over so I didn’t have to deal with this suffocating silence from my mom. Say _something_ , Clay.”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Clay says quickly, stumbling over the beginning of his words. “I’ve missed you this past week.”

There’s a dull laugh that comes from her. It’s distorted and twisted from how he remembers it, but it’s familiar. Clay wonders if he’s heard it before, before all this. “Yeah, at least some of us are,” Hannah replies quietly, her fingers pushing back her tangled hair behind her ears. There’s a silence that follows after, and Clay waits. He can wait forever if he has to. “I missed you too, by the way. I only got phone privileges today and saw all your texts and…” She trails off, her voice and words dying in her throat.

“Oh.” Clay wipes the palms of his hands down his jeans again. “I’m glad you did. Called me. I was really worried about you.”

“Do you know you’re the only one who bothered to text me?”

Something twists in the pit of his stomach at that, nauseating and dropping all at once. He swallows hard, and when he glances up at Hannah, she’s no longer looking at him, chuckling humorlessly as she gazes at nothing in particular.

“I was gone a _whole_ week, and nobody noticed,” Hannah reiterates, her dull eyes meeting his again. “Not a single text. Not a phone call. _Nothing_. Nothing except from you.”

Clay doesn’t know what to say, so he opts for saying nothing at all.

Hannah stares at him, waiting. He doesn't know if it's an answer or a consoling she's seeking, but it's too late by then. After a moment, she sighs and says, “I don’t even want to be here.”

“When do you get discharged from the hospital?” Clay asks, quick to jump on the first opportunity he can to not contribute to the uncomfortable silence visits like these bring. “Maybe it won’t take too long for you to get discharged and you can come back for the last week of school. Or summer.”

“Not here in the hospital, Clay,” Hannah corrects, before she adds, “Just _here_.”

Those two words have a way of making his heart stop, as if ice water has filled in every crook of his spine, in every crevice that shouldn’t have anything there. It doesn’t help that Hannah says this so casually, as if she’s thought it plenty of times before, but the care to hide it gone and with the wind.

But then of course, Hannah must have thought of this all before, and Clay just never noticed.

“Don’t say that,” Clay pleads without thinking, leaning his body forward so he can be there in Hannah’s line of vision. “ _Please_ , Hannah. Don’t say that again.”

“Why not?” Hannah counters, a flicker of fire in her otherwise monotone voice. “Because you’re not supposed to say it out loud?”

“ _No_ ,” he exclaims, louder than he means to. Clay earns them the glances from other teenagers in the ward and their visitors along with the other nurses, before they turn their attention back to their own conversations. Clay takes a breath, forcing his voice to be quieter. “Because the idea of you going through that— _almost killing yourself_ — is horrible to me. To anyone. I know you don’t think that right now, or maybe ever, but it’s true, Hannah. It’s true. If you had died, I don't...” Clay trails off, his throat closing up and leaving him unable to finish. He's not sure what would happen if he did.

There’s a silence that falls over the both of them again, and Clay wonders if he’s messed this up again by saying the wrong thing, or talking without thinking like he always does. Hannah isn’t looking at him and his fingers itch with the want to sit next to her, to be with her instead. But he forces himself to stay still, wondering if the rest of their visit will be silent.

Finally, after what feels like hours upon hours of silence, Hannah asks, “Are you coming to visit again?”

“Of course,” Clay answers immediately without missing a beat. “I’ll come everyday, if you want. Whatever you want or don’t want, I’ll do it.”

The corner of Hannah’s mouth twitches slightly before she turns her attention back to Clay. Her eyes are glossy and the tip of her nose is red. Clay has the sudden urge to grab a napkin and wipe her face. Instead, Hannah sits up a bit straighter on the couch and clears her throat quietly.

“See you on Monday then, Helmet.”

 

 

* * *

 

When Tony drives them up Clay’s driveway, there’s a small package with a pretty design placed at the front of Clay’s doorstep. It’s strange, because the mailman had already come hours ago, and it was nearing the time Clay usually takes a shower at.

Tony parks the car in the driveway. “It’s for you.”

“What? The package?” Clay furrows his brows together. “How do you know? What is it?”

“Listen to the tapes, Clay," Tony explains without explaining anything, "It’s what Hannah wants.”

As soon as Tony drives off and away with a rev of his engine, Clay picks up the package that holds a heavier weight knowing Hannah's the reason behind it.

 

 

* * *

 

_Hey, it’s Hannah. Hannah Baker._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Clay spends the whole weekend listening and listening, waiting for his name. Wondering why she would put him on here when she had just invited him to the hospital. When he’s finished with the tapes, he rushes to the bathroom and throws up whatever he had managed to eat over the weekend, which isn’t much considering all he's eaten are his mom's leftovers and cheese and crackers.

On Monday, with dark bags under his eyes and a deep, twisted disgusted in the pit of his stomach, he catches the gaze of eleven other people that shouldn’t have anything in common, but do. Clay hopes the glares he sends are daggers in their guts. This is only the beginning, and he has plans for _everyone_ who hurt Hannah Baker.

When he visits Hannah after school like he promised, he takes one look at her and she has tears sliding down her face, and Clay takes steps forward and is careful not to invade her space. Hannah wraps her arms around his waist in a crushing hug. Clay holds her and lets the tears fall with her, not letting go even as Hannah cries silent tears on his shirt.

They stay like this for a long, long time. No one dares to interrupt.

 

 

* * *

 

Visiting the hospital is becoming so routine that the nurses know him by name now, probably leaving the nametag redundant, but he keeps it on nonetheless. He’s had to switch around his work hours during the week to manage the visits, which resulted in the end of video game time during the weekends, because it’s worth it to see the almost smile on Hannah’s face every time he steps through the doors of the hospital wing.

Sometimes it’s just them two, talking about nothing and everything all at once, about Clay’s school day and what activities the hospital had Hannah endure during the day. Sometimes it’s them and Tony, or them and Mrs. Baker, or all four of them together playing a card game. One time Clay had shown up right as Mr. Baker, and spent the day with Hannah’s family as they all spent their time trying to make this feel as normal as possible for Hannah.

Maybe the best part is seeing Hannah’s slow but steady recovery. Her psychiatrist has prescribed her anti-anxiety and anti-depressant medications, and after a few weeks there’s something to show for it. Little victories that come about, only able to be seen through the trained eye. Like Hannah washing her hair one day and smelling of soap and antiseptic, or like when Clay had noticed her freshly painted blue nails as he waited for her to deal her hand.

Perhaps the best day is the day Hannah laughed. Truly, deeply _laughed_. It had been something Clay had said that had gotten both Baker parents laughing, and there sat Hannah laughing quietly to herself. It brought a light to Clay’s chest, as if things for Hannah were finally getting better.

When he walks into the wing this day, visitor sticker on full display, he’s surprised to see Hannah with an officer, a doctor, and her parents sitting beside her. She glances up towards him, eyes wide, like she had completely forgotten Clay was supposed to show up today. Clay takes this as his cue to wait, at least until the officer and doctor leaves, with Hannah’s parents hovering and only leaving when Hannah gives the nod it’s okay. It only leaves him ten minutes, but he’d rather have that than nothing.

“What happened to your face?” Hannah immediately asks, before Clay can even take more than two steps towards her. “It’s… _What the hell, Clay?_ ”

 _Oh_. So that explains the face she made when he first walked in. Clay brings his fingers to the fresh bruises and cuts staining his face but doesn’t touch, already knowing it’s too far raw and only has had a night to try and heal over.

“I’ll tell you later,” Clay tells her honestly, looking at her with intent and purpose. “What’s happening with the cops?”

“I told them,” Hannah confesses right as Clay takes his usual seat across from her. “During group today. They called my parents after, and then the police. They took my statement, and I did it. I finally told someone what happened.” She takes a shaky, shuddering breath, and Clay brings this moment to gently take her hand in his. “I told them what happened with Bryce.”

“How did it feel?”

“Terrifying,” Hannah answers, a breathless chuckle before she goes to chew her bottom lip. “Miserable. Liberating. A weight off my shoulders.”

Clay brushes his thumb over her dry knuckles, earning a soft squeeze in acknowledgement from her. “What does it mean? Are they arresting Bryce? Is this going to court?”

“I, uh, I don’t know,” she answers honestly, swallowing hard. “I want to though. I want him to pay for what he did to me. To Jessica. But all of this happened a while ago, and there’s… There’s no evidence anymore.” There’s a far-away look on her face again, every time they talk too in depth about this particular subject. Clay squeezes her hand gently, bringing her back to the present. “At least, not on me anyway.”

For all his life, Clay had never known what it was truly like to hate someone. But the way his stomach churns and his jaw tightens at Hannah’s words, he knows it now. It’s apart of him like a parasite.

Except now he can do something about it.

“I have something that can bring Bryce down.”

Hannah raises a brow, her eyes scanning the expanse of his bruised face yet again. “Does it have something to do with the, uh, whole beaten and battered look you're sporting today?”

“Thanks for the compliment,” Clay deadpans, earning an almost smile from her before he truly answers, “But, yeah. More or less, anyway.”

“Okay, Helmet. I’m listening,” says Hannah, not releasing his hand, not even for a second, “But before we start, I need a favor from you.”

“ _Anything_.”

 

 

* * *

 

“Why am I _here_ , Jensen?” Jessica asks, her voice hoarse and scratchy. She’s in the same cardigan she wore yesterday at school, her face makeup-less and hair a mess. It drives Clay up the wall that he didn’t notice this before the tapes. “Clay, _why did you bring me here?”_

“Do you trust me?” he asks, pressing the elevator button to the fifth floor like he’s been doing every weekday this past month.

There’s a long silence that’s only broken by the ding of the elevator reaching the correct floor. Jessica’s non-answer is answer enough.

As they pass through the hospital wing doors, Jessica freezes at the sight of her. For a moment, Clay doesn’t know what to do, so he does what he does with Hannah and takes Jessica’s hand in his own. She tenses, and just when Clay is about to tear his hand away, she holds it tighter and takes her first step. They walk together, side by side, until Hannah’s sat across their way.

“FML?” Hannah asks, tentative.

“FML,” Jessica answers, her voice wobbly.

Clay sits there as they talk, as they cry. Apologies pour out from the both of them and they’re both so raw and vulnerable that Clay takes a moment to look away from this scene before him, his chest concaving in itself to make room for their hurt. Hannah tells her everything, and Jessica can’t help but break down again. By the end of the hour, they’re quietly talking about summer, about the promise of a future.

“Will you think about it?” Hannah ponders before they turn their way for the door. “With everything I told you?”

“Yeah,” Jessica says with another nod of her head, “Yeah, I will.”

 

 

* * *

 

Two weeks later, Hannah Baker is discharged from Liberty Psychiatric Hospital.

A few hours later, Bryce is arrested for multiple charges of rape and sexual assault.

One week later marks the beginning of Bryce’s trial.

Days and days pass, with more and more girls come forward to share their stories, given the courage by two girls sitting in the prosecution table, dressed in suits and holding each other’s hands under the table.

Three weeks later, Bryce is sentenced to one of the most dangerous prisons in the entire state due to audio admission and multiple counts of similar stories from the multiple victims. He has years and years cut from his life, and he’s left crying on the stand, begging for forgiveness, begging that he'll change his ways. Hannah and Jessica hug each other tightly at the verdict; Clay had smiled as Bryce was taken away in handcuffs.

A few days later, Hannah Baker lives to see her next summer.

 

 

* * *

 

Most things aren’t always black and white. Muddles of gray always seep into every colorless photograph whether you want it or not. There’s the exception to the rule and a rule that’s meant to be broken and a rule that comes because it wants to protect only one person. Life is filled with these little loopholes. Sometimes there’s no clear road ahead, and all you can do is keep walking on.

Recovery is like that in a sense. It isn’t always climbing and clamoring for progress. Sometimes it’s little victories, sometimes it’s having a bad week set off because of a smell or a touch or even a single word. It’s skipping medications because you feel better, it’s lying in bed from the first light of dawn until darkness settles over, it’s pushing those who love you away because you don’t feel like burdening them that day. There are days where you can laugh until you cry, smiling so much that your cheeks hurt, only to be left trying to muffle your cries into a tear soaked pillow at one in the morning to desperately trying to avoid waking anyone.

And some days, there are these pockets of overwhelming joy you can’t take back: _I’m so happy I’m alive to see this._

Clay wants to be there. For all of them. The beautiful and the ugly and all of the in between. He wants to be there for Hannah’s late night phone calls where she’s holding back a breakdown, the midnight walks where it’s them, the silence, and the stars to accompany them, and he even wants the days where Hannah’s in bed and Clay drags a chair next to her and they watch shitty Netflix shows until Hannah’s beautiful laughter rings in his ears. Clay’s even researched how to help depressed people in his life, has asked Hannah what she needed, anything and everything at all.

He wants all of that, because he wants all of Hannah for as long as she lets him. Hopefully that means forever.

They have a habit now during the summer. Hannah has summer school now to help her catch up on the weeks she’s missed and therapy twice a week with a therapist that _isn’t_   Mr. Porter, and even though she complains about the sweaty chairs and uncomfortable conversations, she admits it could be a worse off summer. New York is back on the table and she’s working her ass off in order to make it possible; they have a study session twice a week, although studying rarely gets done. Clay has more hours at the Crestmont to save up for the last big summer adventure before senior year, and the two of them send each other occasional texts during the break in their days, lighting up Clay’s hour instantaneously.

Maybe his favorite part is when he’s helping close up, and Hannah comes in with her hair bouncing and a small smile on her face with a teasing remark on her tongue. Sometimes she’ll even help close the register or sweep up bits of popcorn even though she hasn’t worked there in over a month.

They’ll go to the roof, with Clay holding her hand just like the first time, situating themselves for perfect vision of the night sky above. The air is warm and lingering with possibilities of summer, for the future.

“So, Astronomy Boy, anything interesting happening tonight?” Hannah asks, her head resting on his shoulder. Every time the breeze blows, the curls of her hair brush along his cheek. “No super cool lunar eclipse this time? _Oh_ , or what about a meteor shower? Maybe we’ll even see our very first black hole tonight if we're lucky, Clay. Think about it.”

Clay laughs gently, his fingers brushing along Hannah’s cold fingers that are now linked with his own. “No, none of that. But if we _were_ to see a black hole, we probably wouldn’t live to talk about how awesome it was,” he says, earning an amused headshake from Hannah. “I do think something cool’s happening tonight though.”

“Oh yeah? What is it?” Hannah moves her head off his shoulder, a smile on her face as she pierces him with a questioning gaze. “Fill me in, science nerd.”

“I’m hanging out with you,” Clay answers easily, his gaze softening just as Hannah blinks in surprise. “I consider that pretty cool.”

Hannah smiles and bows her head, the signature sign that she’s probably blushing right now. It only makes Clay smile wider and squeezes her hand in his success. “That’s so cheesy, Clay.”

“Never said I wasn’t,” he shoots back, corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

There’s a moment where their laughter fades out gently, the left over smiles on their face growing warmer the longer they look at each other. Clay wants to push her hair behind her ear, tell her she’s beautiful, kiss her. 

“Can I kiss you?”

Hannah nods. “I’d be a little hurt if you didn’t,” she says quietly. Clay watches the way she swallows, the way her fingers tighten against his own.

Their lips brush against each other gently, with Clay moving his free hand to cup her cheek. Their first kiss was nothing like this, but Clay thinks he likes this better. Maybe it’s because it’s sweet, or maybe because it’s simply the fact that any kiss with Hannah Baker is guaranteed to make his knees weak and his palms sweaty.

She pulls away first and Clay smiles reassuringly, nodding and giving the go ahead that it’s okay. There’s a moment where he brushes the curls of her hair behind her ear, before he opens his arm for her to snuggle back, warm and solid and alive, into his side.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Clay mumbles into the top of her head, pressing a soft kiss there.

“I’m glad I’m here too,” she responds quietly, as if someone besides Clay and the moon will be able to hear her. “I’m really, _really_ glad.”

Hannah Baker takes in a breath. There’s always an after.

**Author's Note:**

> This show is so, so important to me. Hannah was basically me in high school and to see a show actually get depression and stuff right? It was so refreshing and good and just UGH. I loved it. I just feel like Hannah deserved to get a happy ending.
> 
> Dedicated to Michelle, for getting me hyped for this show, and Tasha, for getting hyped with me! <3 Hope you guys like it!
> 
> Leave me your thoughts <3


End file.
